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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651380">Liberation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent'>MagnetoTheMagnificent</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1950s, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Aphobia, Artist Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Catatonia, Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Drinking, Dyslexic Crowley (Good Omens), Flashbacks, Love Confessions, M/M, Nazis, Panic Attacks, Paris (City), Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-War, Unhealthy Relationships, World War II, Writer Aziraphale (Good Omens), ablism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:09:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>British mathematician-turned-journalist Lazarus Fields spent his whole life trying to stay under the radar. He never thought he'd do anything remarkable, until he meets the French artist Antonin Clement....</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lazarus Fields wouldn't consider himself a lucky man, but given his circumstances, the very fact that he managed to survive made him luckier than most others. Lazarus came from a prestigious upbringing. His father was a brilliant mathematician, and encouraged, no, pressured his son to follow in his footsteps. That is how at the age of nineteen, Lazarus found himself recruited out of university to work at Bletchley Park. Unlike all the other young men his age, Lazarus was spared from getting blown up in Europe on the front lines. He got lucky.</p><p>It was at Bletchley Park that Lazarus had his first kiss. Well, not in Bletchley Park. A secluded clearing in a forest would be a better description of precisely where the kiss occured. But he was working at Bletchley Park at that point. After all, his first kiss was with his colleague, Alan Turing. Nothing ever blossomed from the kiss, they were young and repressed, with no one else but each other to relate to. After the war, they went their separate ways, with Lazarus completing university and taking up a teaching job at a boarding school. It was a mundane life, and certainly not anything incredible. He met a few more young men on the side, they played around, drank some, but nothing serious. Even if anything serious did come about, it wasn't as if they would be able to pursue it. Not as two men in Britain. </p><p>So, when his old friend Alan suddenly appeared all over the headlines for criminal activity, Lazarus panicked. He quit his job, crossed the Channel, and took up a journalist position for a small English-speaking newspaper in France. He never looked back.</p><p>****</p><p> </p><p>It was a sunny day, far too hot to be in his office. Lazarus was working on a particularly boring article, which he couldn't concentrate on at his stuffy desk. He decided to walk to the park, hoping the fresh air would get his brain working again. It was a nice day, and Lazarus set himself up on a blanket facing a pond. The ducks quacked pleasantly, and Lazarus regretted not having brought any bread. There was an easel set up not far from where he was sitting, and behind the easel someone was painting. Every so often Lazarus caught a glimpse of the artist when his head moved from behind the canvas. From what he could see, the artist was short, skinny, with a mop of dark hair and sunglasses. </p><p>He wondered what he was painting, and found himself looking up from his writings at times to peek at the artist, to see if he could discern something about him. It was too far for him to make out any features of his face, but Lazarus told himself sternly that he wasn't interested at all in the mysterious artist hiding behind the large canvas. He was interested in the painting, and that was all. Lazarus forced himself to continue writing.<br/>
He was in the middle of a sentence when he heard what sounded like an angry goose, a scream, and loud splash. He looked up in alarm to see that the artist was not at his post, and-</p><p>There was movement in the water, and his heart skipped a beat. Immediately, he ran to the edge of the pond, and dove in. Just as he suspected, he found a man sinking into the soft mud at the pond bottom. The man was light, but the water was murky, and Lazarus strained to pull him out. Finally, he made it to the shore, clutching the man to his chest. He almost threw the man onto the ground, the adrenaline pumping through his veins.<br/>
Fortunately, the man was breathing, and as soon as his lungs breathed in the air, he started coughing out slimy pond water. </p><p>"Are you alright, Monsieur?" Lazarus asked in his terrible French. </p><p> </p><p>The man stopped coughing, and wiped away the water from his face. When he got a look at his rescuer, he froze, and scrambled to his feet, tripped, and fell into Lazarus's arms.</p><p>"<i>Merde</i>," he cursed, and tried to get away. </p><p>"Oh dear. I really think you should sit down," Lazarus tutted. </p><p>When another fit of coughing hit him, the man finally gave up, and plopped onto the grass. He sighed, and started shivering.<br/>
Lazarus looked down at his own soaked clothes, but figured the man had it worse. </p><p>"<i>Un moment</i>," he said, and ran to where he had left his things. </p><p>He returned seconds later with his picnic blanket, and draped it around the man. </p><p>"<i>Merci,</i>" the man mumbled, avoiding meeting his eye. </p><p> </p><p>As the man caught his bearings, Lazarus got a good look at him. He had jet-black hair, which was now plastered to his face and dripping pond water. His face was all sharp angles, his cheekbones jutting out prominently. But most fascinating were his eyes, which were a light brown that seemed almost golden in the sunlight. </p><p>"Is the easel yours?" Lazarus asked him, raising his head to glance at the canvas. </p><p> </p><p>"Wait!" the man protested, but it was too late. </p><p>Lazarus looked at the painting to see a portrait of a classic Biblical angel with majestic white wings, a golden crown, flaming sword, and <i>his own face</i>. </p><p> </p><p>"Did you paint me?!" he demanded of the artist, forgetting to speak in French, even. </p><p>The man started blushing furiously. </p><p>"Ngh. Yes. Shit. Sorry," he stammered, trying to make himself as small as he could. </p><p>He looked so pitiful, and Lazarus's indignation subsited. It was a nice painting, and he would have been flattered if the man hadn't been a complete stranger.</p><p>"Why were you painting me?" he asked in a softer tone.  </p><p>The man looked up slowly. </p><p>"Faceofanangel," he replied quickly. </p><p>"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," </p><p>"I said you have the face of an angel!" the man repeated guiltily. </p><p>Lazarus felt his cheeks grow warm. </p><p>"Well, that's very kind of you," he managed to say. </p><p> </p><p>"Not kind," the artist protested.</p><p>"I paint a lot of people. Faces I think would look nice on canvas." </p><p>"You don't ask permission?" </p><p>"Err, well….."</p><p>"Look, I'm really sorry. Don't usually get caught. I'm not trying to creep on you or anything, honest. I'll even give you the painting when it's dry, if you want," he offered.</p><p> </p><p>Lazarus knew the man was just trying to save face, but somehow he was still touched by his generosity.</p><p>"I think that would only be appropriate," he said primly, trying not to show how pleased he was.</p><p>"Well, I'll drop it off tomorrow, then," the artist told him, rising to his feet and walking uneasily towards his easel. </p><p>"Where do you live so I can get it to you?"</p><p>Lazarus told him where he worked. </p><p>"And who should I ask for?" the artist asked. </p><p>"<i>'gem apple'</i> Lazarus Fields," he answered, holding out his hand. </p><p>The artist shook it hesitantly, his nose twitching from suppressing laughter at Lazarus's pronounciation.Thankfully, Lazarus didn't notice.</p><p>"Antonin Clement," he replied politely. </p><p>They stood awkwardly, neither knowing what to say next. </p><p>"Well, I should be heading back, Antonin," Lazarus quipped. </p><p>Antonin nodded. </p><p>"Have a nice day," he said quietly.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bletchley Park was the headquarters for the Allied powers' codebreakers and computations during WW2</p><p>Alan Turing was a brilliant mathematican and programmer who was arrested for homosexuality in 1952, and died in 1954 as a result of his treatment (either from suicide or poisoning from experimental treatments given to him to "cure" his homosexuality)</p><p>Lazarus was trying to say "je m'appelle"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Antonin carefully opened the door to the flat he shared with Lucian Colére. Lucian was…..his boyfriend? partner? lover? They had sex, is what he was. <br/>Lucian was a high-end fashion designer, and Antonin was indebted to him. When Lucian found him, Antonin was homeless and jobless. There weren't many jobs Antonin could have: he couldn't read, and an old injury prevented him from doing any manual labour. He was by no means illiterate- it was just that the words seemed to swim before his eyes, not making any sense. Lucian took him in, gave him a job, and a home. Eventually, Lucian also took him to bed. It wasn't that Antonin didn't like Lucian- he ought to be thankful of all that he'd done for him, but Lucian could be rough sometimes, demeaning, and demanding. After a long day, he would force Antonin on his knees, and chase his own pleasure. Antonin had tried telling him that he had no desire for sex, but Lucian had laughed him off, saying that he'd just never had the right partner. After a while, Antonin stopped fighting, and submitted to him. He had nowhere else to go, anyway. It could be worse, he reasoned. </p><p>As he walked towards his studio, Antonin hoped Lucian wasn't home. He was tired, and he just wanted to take a hot bath and go to sleep. </p><p>"Is that my <i>Serpent</i>?" he heard Lucian's deep voice ask from another room. </p><p>Antonin winced as Lucian came up from behind him and pinched his arse possessively. </p><p>"Christ, you smell like shit," Lucian remarked, making a face. </p><p>"A goose pulled my trouser leg, and I fell into a pond," Antonin mumbled. </p><p>Lucian threw his head back and laughed. </p><p>"Poor little <i>Serpent</i>," he tutted mockingly, and Antonin wished he could disappear. </p><p>"Well, you'd better wash up," Lucian said firmly. </p><p>"I can't have you in my bed smelling like that."</p><p>Antonin gave him a weak smile as he walked towards his studio to place his painting there to dry. </p><p>"Oh, and when you're done, change into something a little more flattering," Lucian called after him. </p><p> </p><p>Antonin closed the door to his studio, and looked around. The walls were covered with his sketches for Lucian's new designs. He would come up with designs, and Lucian would use them in his company. Lucian let him pursue other art mediums, as well, which is why Antonin would often go to the park and paint the people he saw. He at least had that to turn to for comfort. Words never came easy to Antonin, so his best way to express himself was through painting and drawing and colours. Lucian hardly appreciated any of his creations that weren't new fashion plates. But, he supposed everyone had their preferences. Still, it was nice to hear that at least someone liked his artwork. </p><p>He glanced at his painting of the angel- no, he had a name- Lazarus Fields. Lazarus had been far kinder than he deserved, and Antonin regretted having to give him the portrait. He wanted to be able to see that angelic face again. Antonin took out his sketchbook, and sketched a copy of the painting. He wanted those dark, intelligent eyes to be etched in his memory. </p><p>"Antonin, what's taking you so long?" Lucian demanded from behind the door. </p><p>Antonin slammed his sketchbook shut. </p><p>"Sorry. I'll be out in a moment," he replied quickly. </p><p> </p><p>****</p><p> </p><p>The next day found Antonin standing inside of Anglo-Sphere Publishing House. He had never been inside a news building before, but he supposed it looked like any other. Even if he could read, he was wary of any media that claimed to be truthful. He lived through the Occupation, and he knew too well how far from the truth newspapers could be. Antonin was unfortunately too familiar with the propaganda machine. </p><p>"Can I help you?" a tall, imposing man asked. </p><p>Antonin shrank. </p><p>"I'm looking for Lazarus Fields," he replied, clutching the painting to his chest.</p><p>"Lazarus? He'll be in his office, daydreaming or the like," the man chuckled. </p><p>"Can you give me directions, then?" Antonin asked politely. </p><p>The man smiled patronizingly, but gave him directions to Lazarus's office. </p><p> </p><p>"Who is it?" Antonin heard Lazarus's voice ask from inside his office. </p><p>"It's, err, Antonin Clement. From the park yesterday."</p><p>Lazarus opened the door, and smiled. </p><p>"Come in, then," he said warmly, and Antonin followed him into his small office. </p><p>"I was just having some tea. Would you care for some?" Lazarus offered. </p><p>Antonin smiled, thinking how stereotypically British Lazarus was.</p><p>"If it's not too much of a bother," he answered quietly. </p><p>Lazarus poured him a cup of tea as Antonin unwrapped the painting. </p><p>"You're quite the artist," Lazarus commented as Antonin placed the painting on his desk. </p><p>Antonin blushed. </p><p>"Do you know where you'll put it?" he asked. </p><p>"Probably in my own flat. I wouldn't want my coworkers to think I'm a narcissist," Lazarus answered good-naturedly. </p><p>Antonin sipped his tea slowly. </p><p>"You don't have to speak French," he told Lazarus in English after hearing his pronunciation of 'narcissique.' </p><p>"Are you sure it's no trouble?" Lazarus asked. </p><p>Antonin grinned. </p><p>"I've been speaking English since I was young," he assured him. </p><p> </p><p>He glanced at the clock. Lucian would be expecting him soon.</p><p>"Um, I have to go," he said regretfully. </p><p>Lazarus seemed to look disappointed. </p><p>"Of course. Don't let me keep you," he told him.</p><p>Antonin nodded. </p><p>"Listen, err, Antonin. Would you like to have lunch with me sometime?" Lazarus asked hopefully. </p><p>Antonin thought of Lucian. It was only lunch, he reasoned. </p><p>"Sure," he answered against better judgement, and he and Lazarus arranged a time and place. </p><p>What Lucian didn't know wouldn't kill him. Besides, it wasn't as if they were doing anything. Antonin wanted a friend, and outside of Lucian, he didn't really have anyone to talk to. Lucian had his entourage, and Antonin suspected he had other lovers, as well. He deserved to have someone who understood him, and despite his anxiety, Antonin was looking forward to seeing Lazarus again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning for panic attack, catatonia, mentions of violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They met in a small bistro that Lazarus had suggested because of the delicious crepes. Antonin had no opinion of what counted as good food. If he was hungry, he ate, as long as it was edible, and, in dire times, even if it wasn't. Often a meal consisted of a piece of baguette he tore off, and a wedge of cheese. He wasn't picky. </p><p>"Do you go here often?" Antonin asked in an attempt at conversation. </p><p>"Oh yes. I quite like the atmosphere, and everyone is so welcoming," Lazarus smiled. </p><p> </p><p>"So what brings an Englishman to Paris?" Antonin wondered. </p><p>"Oh, err, I didn't quite like the, um, political climate back home," the writer stammered evasively. </p><p>Antonin raised an eyebrow. </p><p>"How long have you been here?" </p><p>"A good few years," Lazarus replied uncomfortably. </p><p>"How about you?" he asked, shifting the focus, "are you a native Parisian?" </p><p>Now it was Antonin's turn to feel the heat. </p><p>"Not really, no. I came here about mid-Occupation," he replied as casually as he could. </p><p>"It's a lovely city," Lazarus remarked. </p><p>"Eh. It smells, but it's alright," Antonin shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>A well-dressed couple sat at the table next to them, and started chatting amongst themselves. </p><p>"The food is a lot better here than in Britain," Lazarus pointed out.</p><p>"I'll have to agree with you on that, <i>mon ange,</i>" Antonin chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>Lazarus was about to remark on Antonin's word choice to refer to him when one of the couple next to them said something loudly in German, and started laughing, as if sharing a joke. </p><p>"I wonder what they're laughing about," Lazarus remarked, turning to look at Antonin. </p><p>Antonin didn't hear him. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i>They were supposed to be bombing a section of the railroad tracks. It was a routine mission, one they'd done many times before. Antonin, being the youngest and smallest of the group, was tasked with climbing onto the bridge itself to wire the fuses. He was crawling his way back to solid ground when he heard the sound of dogs barking. He crouched in the shadows, and looked to where he knew the rest of his group was hiding in the woods. His heart sank as he saw German troops circle them, their rifles gleaming in the moonlight. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Halt!" one of the soldiers shouted, and then there was the sickening sound of the squadron cocking their rifles. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Machine gun fire broke out, and Antonin watched as the soldiers killed his entire crew. He was horrified, and thought he was going to be sick. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Then, the dogs started barking again, and then looked right in his direction. Antonin gulped. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Da!" a soldier exclaimed, and pointed directly at him. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>The soldier aimed his rifle at him, and shot. The bullet missed him, but it hit the fuze. As sparks started flying, Antonin scrambled to get away. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>He lost his footing and fell, just as the bridge exploded. The force of the blast shoved him into the ground below, knocking the wind out of him. A large wooden beam fell on top of him, pinning him to the ground as more wood and metal rained down. Above him he could hear laughing, laughing, and then nothing. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>"Dear boy? Are you quite alright?" Lazarus asked, his voice laced with concern. </p><p>Antonin was clutching at his chest and clawing desperately at his shirt, his sunglasses now askew on his face. <br/>Lazarus took Antonin's hands and gripped them, holding them down onto the table. </p><p>"Just breathe with me, Antonin, there's a good lad," he instructed soothingly, and eventually Antonin's frantic gasps steadied into rhythmic breathing. </p><p>The other patrons looked on in sympathy, too familiar with the toll the war took on the young men. </p><p>"Steady now, it's alright," Lazarus murmured. </p><p>Antonin had a dazed look in his eyes. </p><p>"Antonin?" </p><p>The artist nodded slowly. </p><p>"Antonin, take a drink of water," Lazarus instructed, holding a glass of water to his lips. </p><p>Antonin sipped it slowly, then started coughing. Lazarus frowned. <br/>Gently, he reached into Antonin's pocket and retrieved his wallet, where he found his address. </p><p>"I'm going to take you home, alright?" he said softly. </p><p>Antonin tried shaking his head, but Lazarus didn't catch his protestation. Helplessly, Antonin let Lazarus guide him through the streets and to his flat. </p><p> </p><p>Lazarus used Antonin's keys to open the door to the flat. He didn't notice Antonin's look of fear. </p><p>"Who's there?" Lazarus heard a man's voice ask. </p><p>A tall, important looking man walked into the foyer, his face drawn up in surprise. </p><p>"What happened?" he asked, frowning at seeing Antonin slumped against Lazarus. </p><p>"Err, are you a friend of his?" Lazarus asked, distrustful of the man. </p><p>"I'm his flatmate and employer, Lucian Colére," the man replied coolly. </p><p>"As in Hellion Couture?" Lazarus exclaimed unbelievingly. </p><p>Lucian nodded, then took Antonin from him. Lazarus suddenly felt a surge of protectiveness upon seeing the rough way Lucian gripped Antonin's shoulders. </p><p>"He had an episode, I think. He's been catatonic since," Lazarus explained. </p><p> </p><p>Lucian chuckled, and Lazarus felt this was hardly a time to laugh. </p><p>"Yeah, he gets that way. Did he drool, too?" Lucian smirked. </p><p>Lazarus never wanted to slap someone more.</p><p>"Is he going to be alright?" he asked instead. </p><p>"Oh, sure. Give him some time and he'll snap out of it," Lucian shrugged, and started leading Antonin towards another room. </p><p> </p><p>"Are you sure you don't need to call someone?" Lazarus pressed. <br/>Lucian shook his head. </p><p>"Listen, <i>rosbif</i>, I don't need a stranger telling me how to handle things," he hissed. </p><p>It took all of Lazarus's willpower to not fight the man, but he realized that he had no winning chance. The man was a celebrity, and Lazarus was a simple writer. It was his word against his. </p><p> </p><p>"Good day," he said, with as much hateful inflection as he could. </p><p>He left the flat and closed the door behind him, fuming. He had met many terrible people in his time, and Lucian was now high up on that list. Even if he could afford it, he resolved to never, ever buy from Hellion. <br/>Lazarus sighed. He only wished Antonin would truly be alright.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>'Halt' means 'stop' in German <br/>'Da' means 'there' in German</p><p>'Rosbif' is a derogatory French term for a British person</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gabriel Archambault, Lazarus's editor, was talking about one thing or the other, but Lazarus wasn't paying attention. He couldn't get Antonin out of his mind. Truth to be told, he was concerned about him. He didn't trust Lucian, and he just didn't want Antonin to get hurt. </p><p>"Lazarus, are you even paying attention?" Gabriel asked impatiently.</p><p>"Of course," Lazarus said quickly, "we were discussing the target readers?" </p><p>Gabriel sighed. </p><p>"Yes. I was saying that we need more interesting stories. I want scandals, things people will call home about. We're a business, for God's sake." </p><p>Lazarus nodded. </p><p>"I'll keep that in mind," he replied. </p><p>"Oh, and you got mail, somehow," Gabriel added offhandedly, slapping an envelope on his desk. </p><p>"From whom?" </p><p>"I don't know," Gabriel shrugged. </p><p>"Looks like it was written by a child." </p><p>He gestured to the blocky writing on the cover. </p><p>"First fanmail, look at that," he chuckled. </p><p>"Little Timmy thinks your book review was the best he'd read since Pippi Longstockings." </p><p>Lazarus smiled politely at Gabriel's teasing. To put it lightly, he hated his boss. But, he supposed it was rare for someone to actually like their boss. </p><p> </p><p>When Gabriel finally left, Lazarus turned to the envelope curiously. He carefully opened it with his letter opener, and took out the note inside. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the first line: 'Helo, Larazus. It's Antonin.' </p><p>Lazarus continued reading. </p><p>'Meet me at the park on Wensday?' it said. </p><p>Lazarus flipped the paper to see if there was any more writing, but there wasn't. He studied Antonin's handwriting. It looked like a lot of effort was put into it, and Lazarus suddenly felt very fond. </p><p> </p><p>****</p><p> </p><p>Wednesday was a dreary, humid day, and it smelt like rain. Lazarus packed his tartan umbrella, just to be sure. </p><p>Because of the overcast weather, the park was mostly empty. By the pond, Lazarus could see Antonin's silhouette against the gray city. The sky began to open up, speckling Lazarus's coat with raindrops. By the time, he reached Antonin, it was pouring. </p><p> </p><p>"Nice weather, isn't it?" Lazarus remarked dryly as he opened his umbrella and held it over himself and Antonin. </p><p>Antonin looked at him with amusement. </p><p>"I suppose it reminds you of home, doesn't it?" he responded, grinning. </p><p>Lazarus chuckled, and pat Antonin on the back. </p><p>Antonin sighed, sobering up. </p><p>"How are you doing?" he asked. </p><p>"I'm doing alright. Antonin?" </p><p>"Right," he hissed nervously, "you're probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you." </p><p>Lazarus smiled gently. </p><p>"Not at all. We're friends, aren't we?" he replied. </p><p>Antonin's mouth twitched. </p><p>"I don't have many friends," he mumbled. </p><p>"Well," Lazarus sighed, looking ahead, "neither do I." </p><p>"Sorry about….a few days ago," Antonin muttered. </p><p>"What is there to apologise for?" Lazarus wondered. </p><p>Antonin snorted, and looked at him unbelievably. </p><p>"I can't tell if you're naive or if you really are an angel," he told him. </p><p>"My dear boy, if you think I would have any qualms about your lifestyle you are greatly mistaken," Lazarus chuckled. </p><p>"<i>Lifestyle</i>," Antonin echoed derisively. </p><p> </p><p>"You know," the writer said thoughtfully. </p><p>"I do have one question." </p><p>"Nyeah?" </p><p>"Are you happy?" </p><p>Antonin stared at Lazarus for a long time. </p><p> </p><p>"Is anyone really happy?" he finally shot back. </p><p>Lazarus bit his lip. </p><p>"I suppose not. But people try, don't they?" </p><p>"People try to survive, mon ange. They don't have time to be happy," Antonin said bitterly. </p><p>"Well, the word exists for a reason, my dear. When would you say one is actually happy, then?" </p><p>"When they're innocent," the artist answered with somber finality.</p><p> </p><p>The rain began to let up. </p><p>"When shall I see you again?" Lazarus asked carefully.  </p><p>"You want to see me again?" </p><p>"My dear, I wouldn't want to miss a second with you," Lazarus replied, scarcely realizing the implications of his words. </p><p>Antonin didn't comment on it. </p><p>"Well, you do know where I live," he said quietly. </p><p>His words hung in the air like a beacon. An invitation. </p><p>Lazarus took out his notepad and well-chewed pencil. He wrote down his address in his neat, elegant handwriting, and handed it to Antonin. </p><p>"Now you know where I do," he responded, smiling slightly.</p><p>Antonin looked down at the paper fearfully. </p><p>"Yeah," he choked out.  </p><p>"Thank you." </p><p> </p><p>Lazarus watched him walk away, for the first time noticing the limp in his step. He was fond of him, that was to be sure. Antonin was charming, mysterious, perhaps, but then again, Lazarus did read far too many gothic novels. And those eyes! They were like warm honey, like golden suns. He didn't consider himself one to fantasize. He was practical and realistic. Realistically, he didn't stand a chance with Antonin. For one, Antonin was, well, in a relationship with someone else. And then he'd have to take into account the fact that Antonin would probably get bored of him. Oh, sure, he called him 'my angel' now, but after a few months of dealing with his nattering? Lazarus was sure Antonin had better places to be. </p><p>Lazarus trudged into his modest flat, and stared at his portrait on the wall. It was askew, and Lazarus stepped on a chair to fix it. Antonin had painted his eyes so beautifully. In fact, he had painted all of him beautifully. Of all the men he had been with before, no one had really made him feel remarkable. It wasn't like there was much of a market, anyway. As a gay man in war-time Britain, there weren't exactly many eligible bachelors. And then once the war ended, well, it was back to the old grind of conservatism.</p><p>When he announced to his father that he was moving to France, he assumed he was after all the conveniently single French ladies. Oh, he could just imagine his father's face if he ever brought Antonin home with him. </p><p>He sat down in the old chair, mentally scolding himself for even entertaining the idea that he and Antonin could ever have something. Besides, he could never have anything, not in his day and age. Perhaps if one of them were a woman, they'd have a fairytale ending, but Lazarus was too aware of the world to even dream of such a fantasy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Clenches fist* It's about the pining and internalized homophobia</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They kept seeing each other. Sometimes it wasn't intentional, but most of the time it was. Summer ebbed into Autumn, and then Winter, and soon the city was bustling with holiday preparations. </p><p>Lazarus dreaded Christmastime. In England, he would have to spend Christmas with his father, which was a painful and utterly draining experience. He would go to Church, and sing songs he didn't believe. He knew he wasn't welcome there. His mother, when she was alive, was deeply religious. That's why he had the unconventional name Lazarus. It was old-fashioned, and made him think of an old hermit with a long beard. </p><p>The year before, he had spent Christmas alone, and while it wasn't unpleasant, it was terribly lonely knowing that across the world, people were gathering with their loved ones. He hoped that this year, he could spend the holiday with someone he truly cared about. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you know what you're doing for Christmas?" he casually asked Antonin. </p><p>"Sleep. Lucian always goes to some party, comes home drunk, you know the drill," the artist replied. </p><p>Lazarus sighed. </p><p>"I was hoping you and I could...well, I could cook up something, we could turn on the radio…." </p><p>Antonin's eyes flickered. </p><p>"You want to spend Christmas with me?" he asked.</p><p>Lazarus nodded. </p><p>"Well, Lucian is usually out all night, sometimes even until morning, so he wouldn't miss me if I dropped by," Antonin said carefully. </p><p>The writer smiled. </p><p>"That would be lovely, my friend," he murmured. </p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>They were past drunk. For the two of them, Christmas meant drinking, and drinking a lot. Antonin's sunglasses were off, and he was talking about something or the other. Lazarus was fixated on Antonin's eyes, which were shining from all the alcohol. He was beautiful, Lazarus decided, especially when he laughed. </p><p>"I'm glad I met you," Antonin slurred with a soppy smile on his face. </p><p>Lazarus's cheeks burned. </p><p>"The feeling is mutual, of course, my dear," he choked out. </p><p>"D'you think we met once? 'Ve met a lot of soldiers, maybe if I'd met you sooner-" </p><p>Lazarus shushed him with a frown. </p><p>"I wasn't a soldier," he told him. </p><p>Antonin blinked.</p><p>"Thought you said you worked for th- the Allies?" </p><p>"Yes. I was a codebreaker. Helped decode German radio transmissions," Lazarus explained. </p><p>He glanced at Antonin, who he was sure was now thinking much less of him. </p><p>"You must be very smart, then," Antonin hiccupped. </p><p>Lazarus was not expecting that response. </p><p>"It's not as heroic as being on the battlefield, I know," he said regretfully. </p><p>Antonin shook his head. </p><p>"N-nuh uh. Codebreaking takes a lot of work. Brains. Damn big brains." </p><p>"Well, I'm flattered you think so. You were a soldier, issathat right?" Lazarus remarked. </p><p> </p><p>Antonin's smile faded. </p><p>"I was a fighter, not a soldier," he said hoarsely.</p><p>"France didn't have any soldiers. Not after the Occupation. There were Nazis, and there were c-corpses." </p><p>Lazarus fell silent, and looked down. </p><p>"I'm sorry." </p><p>"What for?" Antonin shrugged, chuckling dryly. </p><p>"Soldiers are followers, <i>mon ange</i>. French soldiers- they're the ones who rounded up their own neighbours, turned in their own friends. Fighters, on the other hand. They-" he paused, swallowing a burp. </p><p>"They resist," he finished. </p><p> </p><p>Lazarus put a hand on Antonin's lap. </p><p>"You must have been very brave," he murmured in awe. </p><p>"I'm not brave," Antonin whispered. </p><p>"Not at all." </p><p> </p><p>
  <i>The air-raid sirens wailed through the city. It was only a matter of time before the Allies reclaimed the city, and everyone knew it. The tension was palpable. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Antonin was in his tiny flat, cornered by four officers. He stared down at their pitch-black boots. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You know you don't have a choice," Hauptsturmführer Balzer hissed in his heavily accented French. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Antonin pretended not to hear him, which angered the officer more. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Balzer gripped his face, forcing him to look up. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I don't understand why you want me," Antonin lied. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Of course he knew what they wanted from him. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Hauptsturmführer Degenhardt stepped forward, brandishing a silver SS dagger. He pressed it against Antonin's neck threateningly. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Like you, little snake, we value our lives. I'm sure you understand that well," Degenhardt smirked, dragging the dull end of the blade against his skin. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Antonin tried not to show the fear in his eyes. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Your old friends Leuger and Hess say wonders about your artistry," Degenhardt continued, gesturing to the two other officers. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"They were never my friends," Antonin spat. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"They know nothing about me." </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Obersturmführer Leuger rolled his eyes, and Hess cracked his knuckles behind his back. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"We know your little game, snake, and now we have ours. The only question remaining is whether or not you play along," Balzer smirked. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Sweat poured down Antonin's face, and he winced against the cold metal. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"So I forged some identity cards. I confess, you got me. Now what?" he blurted out. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You think we're arresting you?" Degenhardt exclaimed, bemused. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Clement, we're just like you. We're a lost cause, and we're just trying to save ourselves. Just like you," he said calmly. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"So you want false identities so you can escape?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Something like that. And we know you're so talented in that business. All those refugees, prisoners, that somehow managed to make it to Spain or across the Channel. We know about your little operation. All we want is safe passage to Argentina," he explained. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"You're cowards," Antonin growled. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Leuger pulled out his pistol, and pointed it at Antonin, who immediately flinched and tried to shield himself. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"So are you," the Obersturmführer snorted, and Antonin slumped in defeat. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>It's a very human moment, to be faced with one's extinction. And beneath it all, Antonin wasn't ready to die. Not yet. Not this way. Beneath it all, he wanted to survive. Because Antonin was an optimist, and he believed that if he just kept living for one more day, somehow, he'd find that one reason for lasting so long. He didn't want to die yet. Not after losing so much. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Antonin set his glass down and stood up. </p><p>"It's getting late, Lazarus. I should head back," he announced. <br/>Lazarus followed him to the door.</p><p>"Thank you for keeping me company this Christmas, my dear," he told him. </p><p> </p><p>"It was my pleasure, <i>mon ange</i>," Antonin replied.</p><p>"Have a safe walk back," Lazarus smiled, and gave Antonin a brief hug. </p><p>"Happy Christmas, <i>mon chéri</i>," Antonin whispered, and ducked out the door.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Obligatory Christmas scene. This is, after all, a gloomy cliché-riddled romance XD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning for mention of sex (not between Antonin and Lazarus, of course, and nothing explicit).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lazarus was sipping his drink uncomfortably in the corner of the bar. Work had been particularly tiring, and he felt it was high time he treated himself. He didn't often go out, but sometimes he liked to dress up and mingle in a space where he didn't have to worry about being exposed as a homosexual. France was better than England, but it still wasn't perfect. Unfortunately, Lazarus wasn't very good with crowds, so he just sat on the sidelines, watching the people dance. He was bored, and the drink was acceptable enough. The alcohol provided just enough buzz, and the music was pleasant, at least.</p><p> </p><p>"<i>Bâtard</i>," he heard a familiar voice grumble. </p><p>Lazarus glanced to his side to see Antonin plop himself onto the barstool, and rest his head on the table grumpily. He was wearing tight clothes and a silk scarf, and his dark hair was slicked back stylishly. Lazarus suddenly felt very self-conscious about his own effeminate presentation. He didn't want Antonin to think he was soft. </p><p>"Antonin?" Lazarus asked. </p><p>He looked up, and smiled weakly.</p><p>"Fancy seeing you here, <i>mon ange</i>," Antonin drawled. </p><p>"I've never been to this particular bar before, but sometimes it's nice to get a drink after a long day," Lazarus explained. </p><p>"I like your lip rouge," Antonin told him shyly, and Lazarus's cheeks felt warm. </p><p>"Really? I don't often wear makeup, certainly not in public, but I do like dressing up sometimes," he confessed nervously.</p><p>Antonin touched his hand. </p><p>"I think you look lovely, mon ange," he assured him. </p><p> </p><p>"Certainly better than this stupid getup Lucian made me wear," he added moodily. </p><p>Lazarus frowned. Personally, he thought Antonin looked rather fetching, but he could see that it made his friend unhappy.</p><p>"Why do you let him tell you what to do?" he asked earnestly. </p><p>"I don't have much of a choice," Antonin replied quietly. </p><p>Lazarus thought of what to say, but Antonin continued. </p><p> </p><p>"Dance with me, Lazarus. Distract me," he pleaded, pulling him out of his seat. </p><p>"I'm afraid I don't dance," Lazarus protested, but Antonin was insistent. </p><p>"Just improvise, I don't know," he pressed, taking his hands. </p><p>"How much have you had to drink?" Lazarus wondered with concern.</p><p>"Doesn't matter, <i>mon ange</i>. Come on, we're friends, aren't we?" </p><p>Lazarus sighed, and put his arms around Antonin's waist, just as the music slowed to a romantic serenade. </p><p>"Lucian tried to initiate a threesome," Antonin whispered shamefully as they swayed on the dance floor.</p><p>Lazarus let out a small gasp. </p><p>"With some stranger, too," Antonin added ruefully. </p><p>"What did you do?" Lazarus asked. </p><p>"I ran off. He's probably in a room upstairs, if he hasn't come looking for me," Antonin answered. </p><p>"Is that why you're looking for a distraction?" </p><p>"If I'm not distracted I'll lose my mind. Dip me" </p><p> </p><p>Lazarus lowered Antonin down, and suddenly their faces were so close. Their noses almost touched, and even behind his sunglasses, Lazarus could tell that Antonin was looking at him. </p><p>"And you said you can't dance," Antonin said softly. </p><p>Lazarus gulped, and brought him back up as the music continued. </p><p>"I've had a bit of practice," he mumbled. </p><p>"Oh?" Antonin raised an eyebrow. </p><p>"My dear boy, I'm not new to the world. I've had experience," Lazarus smirked.</p><p>They continued dancing, and Lazarus felt warm all over. He couldn't tell if it was from the exercise, or from the growing adoration he had for the man in his arms. It was euphoric. </p><p> </p><p>"There you are, serpent," a gruff voice said from across the room. </p><p>Antonin froze, and pried himself out of Lazarus's gentle embrace. Lazarus watched anxiously as Antonin reluctantly walked up to Lucian. </p><p>"Why did you run off, my pet?" Lucian asked, hungrily gathering Antonin into his arms<br/>. <br/>Antonin mumbled something Lazarus couldn't hear. </p><p>"I'm flattered that you want me all for yourself, serpent, but don't you want to make me happy?" the taller man purred, pressing messy kisses on Antonin's neck. </p><p>Whatever Antonin said next made Lucian stiffen in anger. He grabbed Antonin's wrist possessively, and growled something in his ear. Lucian dragged him out of Lazarus's line of sight, and a tight knot of dread twisted in his gut. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Clean yourself up," Lucian said tersely as he left Antonin on their bed. </p><p>Antonin waited until he heard Lucian leave the flat before he exhaled shakily. His back hurt, in fact, everything hurt, but he forced himself to climb out of that horrible bed. </p><p>In the bathroom, he washed up, wincing as his towel touched his bruises. He swore he wasn't going to cry, but his eyes stung. Slowly, he put on a soft shirt and trousers, and wrapped himself in a cozy robe. He wasn't going to cry. </p><p> </p><p>In his art studio, he comforted himself with the pungent smell of paints and the coarse scent of canvases. Antonin cursed himself for ever letting himself get tangled with Lucian. But he was too far down to get up now. At least, he realized, at least he had Lazarus. </p><p>The man was an angel, truly an angel, Antonin decided. And after that dance, as clumsy as it was, Antonin was enamored. Lazarus was just…...not Lucian. He was kind and gentle and brilliant, and Antonin wished he was worthy enough to fall in love with an angel.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Who's going to join me in killing Lucian?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Months passed, and while their friendship never faltered, Antonin and Lazarus never had another moment closer than that haunting dance. <br/>It was a hot day in June, almost a year since Lazarus had met the curious, remarkable artist. Lazarus was working, and it was a slow day. He heard footsteps running down the hall, and with an inconsiderate force, Gabriel burst into his cramped office. </p><p>"Lazarus Fields, are you ready for the story of the year?!" Gabriel exclaimed, nearly hugging him. </p><p>Lazarus rose out of his seat in confusion as Gabriel bobbed his head excitedly. </p><p>"Sir?" he asked respectfully. </p><p>"News out of England, my man, the next installment in the Turing scandal!" Gabriel grinned, waving a briefing in his hand. </p><p>Lazarus froze. </p><p> </p><p>"T-Turing scandal?" he repeated slowly. </p><p>Gabriel nodded. </p><p>"Alan Turing was found dead by his housekeeper, and get this, they suspect suicide by cyanide!" </p><p> </p><p>Lazarus didn't hear the rest of Gabriel's words, and the world started spinning. He felt numb and overwhelmed at the same time. <br/>Work was a blur. He wrote up an article about Turing, and he knew it wasn't his best writing. He didn't care. He stumbled home, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from his cabinet. Everything was too loud and too hot and too painful. </p><p> </p><p>He and Alan never had a passionate relationship. They were friends, and they kissed and had sex a few times. But he never had any bad feelings towards him, they just grew apart after the war, when they went their separate ways. But he never forgot him. When Alan was arrested, Lazarus was terrified, but he was also devastated. He hated knowing what they would do to his old friend. Since he moved to France, a part of him gnawed at him, a feeling of guilt that he somehow abandoned his brethren. Now, the guilt was stronger than ever, as was the terror. <br/>He knew he couldn't change his homosexuality. He had tried, once, but it was fruitless. But did it really have to be a death sentence? </p><p>All he wanted was to be able to live a happy, carefree life, maybe even with someone he loved. It didn't seem possible for people like him. All the other men he knew didn't exactly have the best lives. One man he used to see was now unhappily married, living a life he never wanted. Another man joined the clergy, where every day he heard the hateful sermons about how men like him ought to be stoned. And then there was Antonin, trapped with a man who degraded and abused him, and he had no way out because the law turned a blind eye to that sort of stuff. </p><p>Lazarus let out a choked sob. The world was a miserable place, and it was slowly killing everyone. He drank until he couldn't feel the agony, and then collapsed onto the couch. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He woke up to the sound of pounding. His head was pounding, and the door- someone was pounding at the door! His head throbbed but his heart skipped a beat. Someone was at his door. </p><p>"Lazarus, I know you're in there!" he heard Antonin nearly shout.</p><p>Lazarus stumbled off of the couch. Light streamed in through the window, making his eyes burn. Since when was it morning? Shakily, he opened the door, barely able to stand. </p><p>Antonin was standing outside, holding a bouquet of flowers and looking very much concerned. </p><p> </p><p>"Antonin," Lazarus said sloppily. </p><p>The artist frowned. </p><p>"Lazarus, <i>mon ange</i>, what happened?" Antonin asked worriedly, ushering them both inside. </p><p>He saw the empty bottle on the floor, and sighed. </p><p>"Oh, Lazarus," he murmured, and pulled him into a hug.</p><p>The writer grimaced, his hangover now at full force. </p><p> </p><p>"W-why'd you come?" he mumbled.</p><p>"I heard what happened with Turing," Antonin said softly. </p><p>"I know you were close." </p><p>Lazarus rubbed his eyes painfully. </p><p>"We weren't that close," he sniffled. </p><p> </p><p>Antonin rubbed his back.</p><p>"It's okay to cry, Lazarus," he said softly. </p><p>"I've been crying all night," Lazarus grunted. </p><p>"I'm a mess." </p><p> </p><p>"Then let's get you cleaned up, <i>mon ange</i>," Antonin replied, leading him to the small bathroom. </p><p>"Sit," he instructed, and Lazarus sat on the edge of the bath. </p><p>Antonin turned on the tap in the sink and let it run until it was warm, and then held a hand towel underneath it until it was soaked. He wrung out the towel, and deftly dabbed it on Lazarus's face, cleaning the dried tears and liquor. </p><p>"Where are your clothes?" he asked gently. </p><p>"In my bedroom, in the wardrobe," Lazarus managed to say. </p><p>"I'll be right back," Antonin whispered. </p><p> </p><p>He returned with a fresh set of clothes, and gave Lazarus a small smile. </p><p>"I can change myself," Lazarus told him, taking the clothes. </p><p>"Then I'll be in the kitchenette, <i>chéri.</i>" </p><p> </p><p>When he finished getting dressed, Lazarus stepped into the kitchenette. The room smelled like freshly brewed coffee, and the writer inhaled deeply. </p><p>"I know coffee is supposed to help," Antonin said sweetly, handing him a steaming mug. </p><p>"You're too kind," Lazarus murmured. </p><p>"What are friends for?" Antonin said with a shrug of his lean shoulders.</p><p>Lazarus watched Antonin move about in the kitchenette as he sipped his coffee. The artist had taken the liberty of washing the dishes he had left out the night before,and tidying up. Lazarus felt his heart swell with fondness. </p><p> </p><p>"You didn't have to do all this," he remarked when he finished his coffee. </p><p>"No," Antonin agreed, "but I wanted to. I care about you, Lazarus." </p><p>The writer took his hand, and moved closer. </p><p>"I should very much like to kiss you," he said quietly, tilting Antonin's chin up towards him. </p><p>Antonin swallowed. </p><p>"What's stopping you?" he responded.</p><p>Lazarus surged forward, and brought their lips together. <br/>It was a tender kiss, and long awaited. Lazarus pulled Antonin closer, and wrapped his arms around him. He could feel Antonin's heart beat against his, and Lazarus was overcome with love for him. </p><p>When their lips parted, Antonin was gazing up at him adoringly. </p><p>"I love you," Lazarus whispered, as if afraid someone could hear him.</p><p>"I love you, too, <i>mon ange</i>," Antonin responded.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me: How do I convey properly that it's not a sexual kiss????</p><p>Also, there will be no French kisses between these two :)</p><p>Only sweet, tender loving ones. So no tongue. Sorry :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another human au??? Could it be???<br/>I'll be tagging as I add chapters</p></blockquote></div></div>
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